The Longest Day
by Goggle Girl
Summary: Remus must sit and be witness to the trial of Sirius Black. With the pressure of the full moon looming over him, he finds it very difficult to cope.


_Author's Notes: Who ever thought THIS could come out of trying to work on an Internal Assessment. Obviously, IB work sends me spiraling down into a pit of angst which seems to know no limits. Why this fic is in the format you see it, I honestly have no idea. It just... happened...? What you see here begins with the day of Sirius' trial as Remus sees it. To make matters worse the trial takes place on the day of a full moon - the first full moon after the Potters' deaths and so Remus' first moon alone in years. I've checked facts and details I was unsure about at the HP Lexicon so things should match up with canon where necessary (the exception being the moon phase... I DON'T know when the full moon was in October and November of the year the Potters' were killed... so don't bother mentioning it) but if anything doesn't seem to match up, let me know. I have more to this (I didn't intend for Remus to die at the end of this) and so I CAN continue it, if you'd like. If not, it can stand as is. As for the title... I don't like it... but I can't really come up with anything else. So enjoy. (Can one enjoy angst? I have no idea.)_

**Disclaimer: All characters appearing in this story are property of J.K. Rowling and whatever companies hold equal rights.**

**_The Longest Day_**

**3:00 AM**

Remus Lupin wakes from a light sleep wrought with hellish nightmares of screaming demons, green light, and darkness. For a moment he is numb with panic, unable to recognize where he is. Slowly the feeling subsides and he exhales deeply, rolling onto his side beneath sweat-soaked sheets. Eyes glinting in the darkness, he shivers, a horrible feeling of loneliness washing over.

Shaking slightly, he sits up and stares down at his lap. Today he's expected at court. He doesn't want to go. It's the full moon when it next rises and his mind and nerves are all over the place. He can't face Sirius now; he can't face Sirius ever. Not after what he did. Dumbledore knows this. But the Ministry was adamant and now Remus has to go.

A walk. A small walk around the house. That's what he needs… and maybe a couple drinks while he's at it.

**4:30 AM**

The only sound in the house is the sound of breaking glass as Remus slumps back onto his patched and ragged sofa, letting the empty rum bottle fall to the floor. Pissing yourself senseless isn't the best thing to do a few hours before you have to attend to legal matters but Remus just doesn't care. And why should he when he has nothing left? Closing his eyes, he slips off into an uneasy sleep once again, wishing he could simply sleep forever.

**7:00 AM**

Remus is jolted out of sleep by the discovery that he can't breathe. It's dark and he's not sure why until he realizes he's face down on the sofa, nearly drowning in his own drool. He sits up, blood-shot eyes peering around the room, wondering why his head is pounding until he slides off the sofa, crunching broken glass between his feet. Remus swears, jumping back and tumbling over the back of his sofa onto the hard floor. The throbbing inside his skull escalates, causing him to temporarily see only white.

He knew today would be a bad day before it even began. Now he is certain.

**8:15 AM**

Remus sits, curled in on himself in the corner of his shower, impervious to the cold water raining down on him. The shock in temperature has helped to reawaken some of his senses and parts of his mind. The strong coffee he'd made himself earlier added a much-needed boost as well. But now that he's aware of everything around him and what has gone on, is going on, and will go on, he wishes he could drink it all away again.

For a brief moment, Remus toys with the idea of pleasuring himself. It isn't real happiness but a good wank will make him feel better. He reaches but hesitates, sighing deeply. His mind is filled with confusing thoughts and emotions. How is anyone supposed to concentrate on anything when you know you're about to face someone who just destroyed your life?

Anger floods through Remus suddenly, a bitter hatred for Sirius and all things Black. Frustrated, he punches the tiled wall beside him with a force that leaves both him and the wall reeling. Massaging his red and throbbing knuckles, he turns off the water and gets out, wondering vaguely if this constitutes as a good excuse to redecorate the bathroom.

**10:00 AM**

There are popping noises all around him – the sounds of Apparating witches and wizards as Remus himself appears in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic. He hates coming here, no matter what the reason, and it's because of the simple fact that he needs to register his wand every time he arrives. He hates the look which appears on the security wizard's face as he matches his name and wand together and discovers what Remus is. He's used to people hating him for it but isn't immune. He stopped being hurt by it years ago but now, like so many other things, it only makes him angry.

Today is no different but he wishes it was.

He wishes it was different as he passes by the golden fountain – a reminder to him that people of his affliction aren't even above house elves.

He wishes it was different as he passes through the golden gates, receiving the usual look of disdain from the wizard on security duty.

He wishes it was different as he steps into one of the lifts to level nine.

He only stops wishing today were different when he gets off the lift and sees Dumbledore waiting patiently for him. Then he needs to use all the willpower he has to keep himself from passing out or throwing up. Remus feels like doing both at the same time.

In the years to come, Remus won't remember making the long walk down the dark spiralling staircase into the dungeon of courtrooms on level ten. It takes an age to pass down the stone stairs and Remus struggles not to give up and collapse. Dumbledore says nothing and Remus is glad for it. Today's matter is serious and even if his old headmaster tried to strike up a conversation, Remus doesn't think he'd be able to form any words.

Courtroom ten is where he'll be – the last heavy wooden door, bolted shut with iron locks. Remus prays the door won't open, that he won't have to go into that room, but his prayers aren't answered. He silently reflects that they never have been answered. Dumbledore holds the door open for Remus to enter and he is surprised to see the seats are nearly all filled with wizards from all walks of life. A part of him wishes there was no one here, no one to glare accusingly at his best friend when he's brought in. But another part of him takes perverse joy in it, believing Sirius deserves all the hatred the world can muster.

Barty Crouch sits at the head of the Wizengamot, looking eager to get on with the trial and condemn some poor soul. In an instant, Remus hates him as if all of this is really his fault but chastises himself for it. Sirius is not some poor soul; it's Remus who lives in poverty both financially and spiritually.

**10:30 AM**

Remus is just beginning to calm his nerves and learn to breathe regularly again when an icy cold washes over him. Looking around, he notices he isn't the only one to be struck by this sensation and feels his heart stop beating and try to crawl up his throat. He knows what's coming. He knows _who's_ coming.

Sure enough, the single door opens and in glides two Dementors flanking a small, downcast figure. Sirius' healthy complexion is gone, his skin now a pale hue resembling Remus'. His dark hair, always so elegant, has lost all of its lustre and hangs limply, falling into dark and sullen eyes. As Sirius sits and is chained to the chair in the centre of the room, Remus looks once again at Crouch and is dismayed to see him look so triumphant. The other witches and wizards in the room seem to either share this triumph or glare bitterly at Sirius. Remus wishes someone would take pity; he wants someone to forgive Sirius and send him somewhere else. Somewhere where the Dementors can't further ruin the man Remus thought he knew.

_But that's just it, isn't it?_ Remus wonders to himself. _You only thought you knew him. This man isn't your best friend, is he? He killed the others so why wouldn't he kill you given the chance?_

Remus doesn't pay attention to anything Crouch or the Wizengamot says, too busy battling with himself. He doesn't care what the government finds Sirius to be; what matters to him is his own personal conviction. Perhaps he can give Sirius forgiveness; Remus doesn't know what events led him to all of this, maybe he had no choice. But then again, were Remus faced with betrayal or death, he would have chosen death. Not caved in and destroyed the lives of all his friends.

Despite this, Remus begins to edge towards personal forgiveness or at least a small feeling of pity. He's noticed Sirius has not said anything in response to Crouch's charges and accusations and has not even looked up from the floor. But as Crouch reads out the sentence – life imprisonment in Azkaban – Sirius looks up and, to Remus' horror and dismay, Sirius' dirty grey eyes meet his amber ones. Sirius' eyes widen in horrified shock and the once-indifferent exterior melts away. Remus' eyes pierce through him as if he stands naked and bare before him. At the same time, Remus breaks. Now that he's faced with the man who ruined his life, he can't pity Sirius. He can't pity anything he experienced at the hands of his parents. He can't pity his troubled childhood. He can't pity whatever circumstances led Sirius to do what he did. He can't pity that Sirius is to spend the rest of his life at the mercy of Dementors. Sirius' eyes are searching; pleading with Remus to forgive him but Remus is impervious to all of it.

Remus reaches his own conclusion, as he tears his eyes away from Sirius. The man in the chair is not his best friend. He never was. He is a murderer and deserves far more than a jail sentence.

**12:00 PM**

"Remus? Are you all right?"

Dumbledore is speaking to him. The courtroom has emptied. Sirius is gone. He doesn't remember him leaving, only a vague shadowy image of a dark man, struggling in vain against darker beings. His stomach gives a lurch. Maybe it's the pull of the moon. Maybe it's what he's just seen. Either way, Remus wants to be sick all over the floor.

Instead he looks up at Dumbledore and nods. He has the feeling Dumbledore doesn't believe him.

"Are you _going_ to be all right? Tonight?"

Remus nods again. He doesn't like lying to Dumbledore but what's the point in admitting he's been broken into a million pieces on the inside. No one can help him, especially not tonight.

**1:00 PM**

Remus finds himself standing outside a seedy-looking pub in the Soho district with no real recollection of how he got there. Remus usually avoids pubs which look more rundown than his house but all he wants right now is a drink… or two… dozen.

**2:00 PM**

Remus stumbles into the alley behind the pub, leaning against the wall to catch his balance. He fumbles in the pocket of his coat for his wand and Disapparates, arriving in a heap in the front hall of his house. He doesn't bother to move for a while, the thought of movement not quite making it to his legs. Maybe he'll just lie here for the rest of his life. He could become one with the floor.

_No… come on, Remus, old boy, get up._ Drat, that mind of his is still around. _Pull yourself together and stand up. You're beyond this._

Remus doesn't believe he's beyond any of this but is sitting in the midst of it all rather. Despite this, he grudgingly gets to his feet and staggers into his small living room. There are still shards of broken glass from the morning's rum bottle. Normally, level-headed Remus would clean it up. But level-headed Remus wouldn't have been drinking like that in the first place. Level-headed Remus is gone.

Instead, Remus walks through the glass, hearing it crunch beneath his shoes and over to his liquor cabinet. Inside is an assortment of whiskeys, rums, and vodkas he's received over the years. What Remus sees is bliss, reaching for a bottle and uncapping it. Raising the bottle in a small toast, he brings it to his lips.

_To life and all her demons._

**3:00 PM**

Remus has just drunk one bottle of vodka too many, he realizes as the room begins to spin wildly. His knees buckle and Remus falls, landing with a dull thud on the floor, surrendering to the paradise of alcohol dreams.

**6:30 PM**

Remus' dreams fade into oblivion as something pulls him back into consciousness. He is staring up at the ceiling, eyes round and unfocused in the dusk. The planked walls of the room have taken on a reddish hue and for a moment Remus wonders if he's died and reawakened in hell. He soon realizes it's much worse, however: the sun is setting.

An odd, uncomfortable chill runs through him as he sits up slowly. Every inch of his body is tingling, his skin feeling as if it's gently being pin-pricked all over. He knows these signs and what they entail: _she_ is rising and every moment that passes by Remus can feel her tugging harder and harder at his joints.

For the first time in years, Remus begins to feel fear rising up from his depths. The moon is rising and he is alone. There is no stag standing by the wall, antlers making it look majestic despite the concern always present in its large dark eyes. There is no black dog waiting to pounce and hold him down so he doesn't hurt himself. There isn't even a rat to play catch and release with. There is only him; a pale, shaking figure watching helplessly as the sunlight fades.

When he was little, he used to be terrified of the moon because he was alone. Now that terror resurfaces, escalating far beyond fear. Remus can feel his heart beating faster but he isn't sure if it's from panic or the oncoming change. He can't remember what it's like to go through this alone; he doesn't fully realize until now that his friends had helped him to bury the memory deep inside himself. Now that he can't remember, he's unsure of what's happening.

Silver light creeps in through the window and splashes onto Remus' face. Control of his body is gone now; the last thing he can manage is to curl into a trembling ball of twitching limbs. The ever-present whisper at the back of his mind begins to grow louder but Remus refuses to surrender his mind just yet. Signals are firing off in his brain; the alcoholic haze is still heavy but vague thoughts begin to surface: vague worries. He's never changed in this house alone before. Should he have crawled off into the woods as deep as he could have gone and let himself go with no humans around for miles? Should he have locked himself in his bedroom and reinforced the door? Would it have still held? What if this house can't hold him and he escapes? Then he might bite someone and be…

_Being picked up and put to sleep is the best thing that could happen to you right now._ It's hopeless and morbid but it's the last coherent thought Remus has.

Now all his mind has room for is pain as his bones crack and shift. Remus reaches out instinctively, looking to grab onto soft black fur for comfort. All his hand finds is broken glass. He lets out a shocked whimper, expecting a comforting muzzle to brush his cheek in response. There isn't one. The wolf is confused by this and Remus resurfaces temporarily. But he can't take the pain of his skin stretching over his rearranged innards. He screams, a long, desperate, pain-filled scream, until his lungs collapse on themselves.

_Inhale. Inhale._

It comes out again, different this time, not as human as the last. But he's cut off mid-scream as his jaw unhinges itself to fit his growing snout.

In a few moments it's all over. The wolf crouches close to the floor, shaking off the lingering pain. Remus is gone, the last remnants of his humanity disappearing as the wolf tilts its head back in a howl. The mournful call echoes through the empty halls of the house.

There aren't any animals present to keep it in check.

**8:00 AM**

Remus wakes in so much pain he's numb. Blearily he opens his eyes and is momentarily blinded by the morning sunlight filtering into the room. He notices he isn't in his living room anymore. He's on his side in the kitchen with a pan handle poking him somewhere he'd really rather not be poked. The floor is sticky and there is a horrible aroma in the air.

He lifts his head and immediately regrets it. He's dizzy and the constant movement of the room isn't helping. He tries to steady himself but discovers his arms won't co-operate. His whole body feels like lead, as if it's strapped to the floor by the blood leaking from the wounds all over his body. It's everywhere, probably smeared all over his face like it is the floor.

As his head hits the floor again, Remus realizes what the foul smell is. It's urine. The unfamiliar setting must have aggravated the wolf. Remus groans and closes his eyes. He doesn't see any point to cleaning this up, or cleaning himself up even. If he waits long enough, he'll just slip away.

And slip away he does.

_And there you have it. Once again, I have more written out and ready. This isn't really all of it. I can continue and post the rest of this if you want or, if it's preferred, leave it as is. Let me know, along with any other comments or critiques you may have._


End file.
